By Sulaiman Aledeh
One of the privileges of journalism is that it teaches you to pay attention—not just to what people say, but to what they suddenly stop talking about. It teaches you that sometimes the biggest story is the one carefully buried beneath another.
As Nigeria inches towards another general election in 2027, I have noticed something rather familiar. We are once again sharpening our tribal identities. Once again, politicians are dusting off the old playbook: divide the people, inflame old suspicions, manufacture fresh grievances, and hope that ethnicity succeeds where performance has failed.
We have seen this movie before. We know how it ends. Yet every election season, we queue up for another showing.
Then came the news of the “last batch” of Nigerians voluntarily returning from South Africa.
Last Batch?
How exactly did we determine that? Has someone conducted a census of every Nigerian abroad? Or did we conclude that the cameras had left?
More interestingly, some state governments quickly turned the returnees into political trophies. Welcome ceremonies. Photo opportunities. Speeches. Smiles.
But I couldn’t help asking a rather uncomfortable question: if governments had consistently created opportunities at home, how many of these young Nigerians would have left in the first place?
That is the conversation we zig-zagged away from.
The real celebration should not be receiving returnees. It should be built so that people never feel compelled to leave. It should be creating economies that attract talent instead of exporting it.
Instead, we clap for the symptom while ignoring the disease.
As we often say in Nigeria, “It’s not my portion.”
Can I get an amen?
Then there is Lagos.
The first time I arrived in Lagos in 2001, it was a culture shock. I had just left the calm surroundings of the University of Benin and UBTH quarters, where neatly trimmed lawns and flowers were part of everyday life.
Lagos was… different.
People casually stopped on the Third Mainland Bridge to throw bags of refuse into the lagoon. Oshodi was an experience best left undescribed.
Then something remarkable happened.
Across successive administrations—from Bola Ahmed Tinubu to Babatunde Fashola, Akinwunmi Ambode and now Babajide Sanwo-Olu—the city became cleaner, greener and more organised. Whatever one’s political persuasion, continuity in urban planning was evident.
